


Closer

by Steena



Series: Closer 'verse [1]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Crossfaction, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Mating Cycles/In Heat, NSFW, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sorry Not Sorry, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-18 14:43:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13102341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steena/pseuds/Steena
Summary: He had always found it funny when mechs succumbed to heat. Until he found himself in the same situation. Help comes from the most unexpected direction.Self indulgent smut. Because Barricade is hot. And Jazz is hot. Rare pair? Almost always is when I write something. The thing you didn't know you needed? Might be.





	1. Chapter 1

The thing about the heat cycle in Cybertronians was that it was very _funny_. Or at least it had been before, when only the Seekers had gone into heat. He had found it immensely amusing, the times the fliers hadn't made it out of the base or ship in time, watching the normally prissy, haughty Seekers succumb to need and in a daze get fragged by anybot willing. The time Thundercracker had been bent over a table in the rec room by _Brawl_ of all mechs had been glorious for his schadenfreude, he had been beside himself with glee.

Now... _not so much_. Being chased through the base by a crazed helicopter twice his size put another perspective on the heat.

It started out subtly a few cycles earlier, and as it was his first heat, he was clueless, booting out of recharge with just a hint of wetness in his valve. It sort of tickled and he had tried to ease the sensation by rubbing his legs together, but it didn't help more than for the moment. Deciding to just ignore it, _going to Hook with the problem was out of the question_ , he'd pushed the thought aside. He seemed to have some problems with his frame running hot, cooling fans onlining more than usual, and he promised himself to go to Hook if the problems didn't go away in a few cycles.

The itching and tickling in his valve increased over the days, but he never made it to the medbay. In retrospect, that was a mistake. The source of the problem was discovered minutes ago, when he was refueling, and he was _not_ amused.

Barricade had entered the rec room and headed for the energon dispenser, busy with overriding his insistent cooling fans. Blackout and Starscream was standing by the dispenser, sipping their cubes and Barricade greeted them absentmindedly. He started filling up a cube, not noticing Blackout go stock still, busy with checking through his list of pop-ups to see if he could find any clues about the state of his frame. He reflexively rubbed his thighs together to ease the tingling. That motion shifted the walls in his valve against each other and that's when he felt it. A trickle from his valve.

The Saleen froze up. _How the pit would he get out of there without the drip overflowing his panel, leaving a mortifying trail?!_

Still frozen on the spot, Barricade heard the _snick_ of Blackout's battle mask sliding apart and he looked at the stiff Helo. Blackout was sniffing the air, glossa flicking out before he did a strange chewing motion with his intake. A leering smirk stretched the Sikorsky's lipplates. His optics brightened.

"You smell that, Starscream?" Blackout raised an optic ridge and moved closer to Barricade, making a snuffling sound as he pushed air over his olfactory sensors.

The 'copter's optics brightened another shade. Barricade took an involuntary step back to put more distance between himself and the Sikorsky who was acting increasingly more worrying.

The Seeker sniffed. "No...oh, wait." He smirked. "Somebot is going into heat soon."

"Already is." Blackout growled.

Barricade's audials started ringing and the voices of the other mechs fade when his processor staggered with the insinuation.

_Heat?! He was in heat?! That was impossible. Wasn't it?_

He startled back to reality when Blackout grabbed Barricade's arm and spun him around, pushing him faceplates first against the wall.

"Can't be that far gone, glitch isn't begging for it yet." Starscream commented.

"Ready enough. I can smell the lubricant dripping from him. Look at his legstruts all smeared." Blackout's voice was low and guttural, and Barricade could tell that the mech was too far gone to stop, barely more than a mechanimal as he pressed in closer to the smaller grounder.

 _So this was how it would go? Raped against the wall in the rec room?_ But he was in luck. Blackout stepped back to move the Saleen, dragging the struggling interceptor toward a table. His grip loosened for a second and Barricade saw his chance; he twisted loose and ran for his functioning. The 'copter roared behind him and took up the pursuit through the hallway, clumsily and frantic like a raging beast.

Barricade's smaller size came in handy dodging between mechs, or so he thought at first. But Blackout didn't bother to go around anybot, those not moving quickly enough was bowled over as he just ran _through_ the others. He was gaining on the smaller mech, much to Barricade's horror.

Barricade took a corner, closely followed by the Sikorsky, the larger mech's momentum sending him careening into the wall with a loud crash. It gave Barricade a few more steps between them but he knew he would soon be caught, especially if the other 'Cons caught up with what was going on and they decided to "help". He expected no help in this; they would all side with Blackout.

He transformed smoothly mid-step and peeled down the hallway, hoping his advantage of four wheels would get him the frag out of there. Not daring to look back, Barricade skidded around the corners, drifted his turns and pushed his engine wildly, spark spinning ever faster the closer he got to the doors and freedom.

For once, he was lucky. Blackout's rotors were too wide to fit in the hallway, making the Helo unable to use his altmode to pursue the smaller mech through the base. Barricade smashed through the doors and out into the blistering sun, gunning his engine. He ran down the dirt road, heading for the nearest town to give him better cover with all the human vehicles to try to blend in amongst. Checking behind him repeatedly, he was relieved to turn a corner and disappear from view before anybot left the base in pursuit.

*****

The heat was getting worse. Barricade had holed up in an abandoned warehouse and activated his cloaking shield, making him harder to track with normal scans. He spent the first day with his back against the wall, helm on his knees, waiting for it to pass. By nightfall, he was sitting in a puddle of his own lubricant, his valve tingling with charge.

He onlined the next morning to find his panel open and it took three attempts to close it. At noon, he was feverish, his miserable valve aching. By late afternoon, he was startled out of a light recharge by the sound of his panel opening again and now he couldn't even access the protocols to close it. He was even more charged now, his valve drooling constantly. His dazed processor conjured up filthy images of how glorious Blackout's spike, probably huge considering the size of the Helo, would feel sliding in and out of his valve.

Hesitantly he slipped a digit into his valve and his hips bucked of their own accord against his servo. Barricade let out a whimper at the sensation, adding another digit. He thrust in as deep as he could reach, the palm of his servo pressing against a node outside his valve and he groaned when he promptly overloaded. The shallow overload wasn't nearly enough, charge still coursing through his overheating frame, cooling fans on full blast. He added a third digit and started thrusting faster, using his other servo to stimulate the exterior node, the overloads lining up like beads on a wire without ever being enough to make him get rid of the charge.

It was dark when he finally emerged from his pleasure driven haze, realizing he had self-serviced for hours. It would have been embarrassing if he had the energy to reflect upon it. The long line of overloads hadn't taken the charge away but lessened it enough to at least leave him able to process a little more clearly.

Pulling up a map over the surroundings, he found what he needed: a small river. Hopefully, he could sneak out there in cover of darkness and cool down in the water. He eased the door open, risking a scan of the surroundings to make sure no other 'Cons were close by, but it seemed empty.

Not even able to transform into alt mode, he crouched as much as he could as he ambled forward, dimmed his optics and kept his sensors trained for potential unwanted company.

He made it to the river without complication. Barricade's spark had spun a little quicker when one of his scans came back with a weak signal that potentially was a Cybertronian but it was gone when he did a rescan. He calmed down; none of the 'Cons were that small anyway. Probably just some human equipment or something.

The cool water hissed and bubbled when it came into contact with his overheated frame and he waded out and let his frame crumple, submerging himself completely. It was a relief and he laid on the rocky floor, watching the temperature gauge in his HUD creep down. The charge didn't go away but at least he wasn't burning up anymore.

Rising to his pedes, Barricade stayed with his frame under the surface and just his helm above water, venting the cool night air. He wished he could stay there until the heat was over but he had to go back to his hiding place before the humans, and with them the Autobots, started stirring. He could still stay a little longer, though...

The water caressed the Saleen's plating, swirling over his super sensitive protoform and deeper struts and cables and it was enough to make his charge rise, the water conducting it to crackle against his sensor net. Without hesitation, Barricade rubbed his exterior node, slipping three digits into his valve, just to find the water had washed away the lubricant allowing that delicious slide. He looked around quickly. Still nobody around.

The Mustang climbed out of the water, laying down on his back on the ground just above the waterline. There was still time, he could overload and then cool off in the water again before he returned to the warehouse.

Lubricant had already started to trickle out of his valve again, and this time his digits slid into his heat with a wet sound. A warble left his vocalizer before he could stop it.

He rubbed his node and his frame bucked and writhed with his ministrations. Cooling fans clicked on again and he didn't quite manage to mute his vocalizer, allowing mewls and moans to escape him. When overload wracked his frame, Barricade arched his back strut and his vocalizer glitched, only incoherent beeps leaving it. He was knocked into a quick reboot.

As soon as he was back online, he crawled into the water again, letting the silky caress of the gloriously sensual liquid cool his frame. To think that just a week ago he'd hated water...

The chill cleared his processor and he resurfaced, just to freeze when his optics caught movements on the bank where he'd laid just minutes... _hours_?...ago. A silver mech was crouched down on all fours, sniffing the ground and dipping his glossa in the wet stain Barricade had left, chewing and sucking in air through his intakes.

The mech lifted his helm with a deep invent through his olfactory sensors and a bright blue visor fixated on the Saleen in the water. He cocked his helm, like some kind of cyberhound, a predatory smile slowly spreading across his faceplates as his visor brightened.

"Well, wasn't that quite the show... _Barricade_."

He purred the designation in a velvety smooth voice that was pure sin. Barricade shivered, a tingle traveling up his back strut, the mere sound of the mech's deep voice making things to his frame that was downright indecent. It was alarming that he seemed to have been close enough to watch Barricade for a while without being noticed, but the Decepticon was too distracted to really process that fact more thoroughly.

 _Blue optics but no Autobrand_? Barricade tried to scan him for identification, but came up short. His admittedly frazzled memory files couldn't find a dossier with a picture of the mech, a disturbing fact, considering _Barricade_ was an infiltrator and as such had seen more of the 'Bots than half the Decepticon forces on Earth combined.

"I-I don't know you?"

The silver mech chuckled and rose to his pedes. "If ya did, I'd deserve a demotion. But who I am 's really not tha' important."

He stepped down to the edge of the water, making the Decepticon take a wary step back. He tried onlining his defensive protocols, normally activating reflexively, but they remained unhelpfully offline. Now he was getting really worried. He forced himself to take another step back, his frame reluctant to obey and the visored mech's grin widened to something close to feral.

"Stay back." Barricade snarled. Or, at least, he tried to. It came out more as a plea. "I'll slag you." He added.

He hadn't ran and hid like a coward just to be taken by an unknown...an _Autobot_! His optics brightened in alarm when the mech stretched languorously and the Saleen finally saw the brand, well hidden on the inside of the mech's upper arm strut and almost the same color as the rest of him. _He had to be spec ops. Autobots were notoriously proud to a point of being stupid about flaunting their brand_.

The mech smirked and it made Barricade's engine hiccup. The Saleen kept wary optics on the Autobot as the mech did a few quick transformations; guns flashing and disappearing, and twisted his frame in movements that just seemed impossible. Two nasty looking blades flashed and disappeared back into subspace just as quickly, before he stretched again, showing off broad shoulders and a slim waist.

Barricade's traitorous processor put way too much of its power into evaluating the mech courting him.

_What?!_

And it approved, ramping up his charge. The Mustang keened in discomfort, his valve throbbing. He stared as the silver mech laid down in an impossibly fluid motion and Barricade once again tried rubbing his thighs together, the motion making the water ripple around him. The other mech noticed, a sly smile stretching his lipplates.

"Lea-leave me alone! Go now and I won't damage you." Barricade growled.

"Yyeeah, no. B'sides, how're those defensive an' offensive protocols workin' out for ya?" The Autobot slid a suggestive hand over his own ventral plating. "I bet ya'd rather ge'me... _closer_." He murmured the last word in a low, husky voice.

Barricade hated how much he enjoyed the show, how the mere voice of the mech made him ache with need, almost as much as he hated that the mech obviously knew that he was basically defenseless.

"Primus, ya smell so fuckin' _good_." The Autobot took a deep vent, visor going even brighter.

The mech crawled down and slipped into the water, going under like one of those predatory reptilians infesting the waterways of this dirt ball. Barricade couldn't move, trying to see through the surface of the dark river. He startled when servos slid up the outside of his thighs when the mech resurfaced behind him, pressing his frame against Barricade's sensitive plating, making the Saleen's vents hitch.

Barricade's processor swam with contradictory thoughts; if he had any chance to fight off the mech if he decided to force the issue as Blackout had tried, if he would even object to it and how he shouldn't want this but his frame craved it nonetheless.

Sharp talons, _and he didn't even know Autobots had those_ , dipped into seams on his armor, tweaking cables Barricade hadn't known could send such pleasure coursing through his systems. He bucked into the touch, unable to stop the movement.

"No! Leave me alone, Autobot!" It came out a pleading warble, not the growl he was going for.

"Relax. 'm not gonna hurt ya. Ya know us 'Bots, can't leave a mech in distress. And I wouldn't dream of hurting somebot in heat. I have other things in mind..." The Autobot crooned, voice low and husky, making a shiver trickle down Barricade's back struts.

Barricade felt lipplates brush his shoulder, hot exvents ghosting his plating. He moaned when clever digits teasingly slipped down ventral plating, slowly trailing down to where he really needed it. Sharp denta nipped at his neck cables and those talons found the seam at the hip joint, deliciously close but frustratingly far away. Barricade's vents was coming in hard pants, struggling to cool his frame, the charge now bordering on painful and heating his frame even in the water.

And then the Autobot brushed his servo over Barricade's exterior node, just the slightest touch. Barricade's optics fritzed and the feed froze and buzzed with static. His vocalizer hummed feedback and his hips jerked uncontrollably.

"Such a pretty Mustang, lemme take care o' ya like ya deserve."

The Autobot murmured, pressing firmly against the node with one digit without moving it. Barricade keened, close to overload but unable to go all the way, and he scrabbled frantically at his own frame, trying to coax himself over the edge. The silver mech grabbed one of his wrist struts, firmly holding Barricade's servo away from his frame.

"Nono, allow me."

The pressure increased and he bucked his hips to get just a little more friction, not succeeding as the devious Autobot somehow managed to follow his movements.

Then digits slipped into his valve, finding nodes Barricade hadn't even been aware of having, and he arched his back and _wailed_. The digits stopped, just before he could crest and overload.

"There ya go, such a lovely li'l Saleen."

The Autobot whispered in his audial before a wicked glossa glided along a sensitive fin, ending with a nip. It was enough to make the frustrated snarl hitch in Barricade's vocalizer and turn into a distressed mewl.

"C'me're now, _Barricade_ , le's go get rid of tha' charge."

The silver mech tugged at Barricade, insistently guiding him back to the riverbank and the Saleen came willingly, all resistance broken down by need. His hazy processor didn't even compute that he was going along with an unknown enemy, he was that far gone.

The 'Bot helped him to lay down, and the Mustang laid on his back. He felt his knees being hiked up and spread and just the feeling of having a mech kneeling between his legs was enough for him to start venting faster in nervous anticipation.

The Saleen's almost white optics locked on blue visor, the other mech hovering above Barricade on one servo and his knees. His thumb rubbed the now slick folds, teasing the sensitive node and finally, he allowed Barricade to overload.

It was pleasure he had never experienced the like of before, yet it wasn't enough to release him of his charge.

"Yesss." He hissed. "More, I need more!"

Barricade fumbled and grabbed the silver frame above him, pulling and groping frantically. All his wariness was gone and all his inhibitions lost. This was what he needed and he couldn't think straight any more. The 'Bot chuckled. The snick of a panel opening had Barricade looking down. The mech had a surprisingly flashy spike, despite his low key paint job. Blue LEDs ran along the length of it, accenting the dark green ridges that probably were mods. There was just no way a mech that size could have those thick ridges naturally, the girth almost daunting.

"As ya wish."

The tip of the spike nudged his aching valve and Barricade moaned when it finally slipped inside, excruciatingly slow. He grabbed the hips of the mech, trying to pull him inside quicker, but the 'Bot was strong, easily continuing his own pace. Barricade growled in frustration as the spike dipped in and out of his valve, just brushing the first few nodes, teasing his painfully charged mesh.

"Easy now. Don't wanna hurt ya with the ridges."

But he still heeded Barricade's unspoken wish and pushed in a little further. The first ridge reached the first ring of fluttering calipers and suddenly Barricade was thankful for the mech's insistence on going slow. Even with all the lubricant slicking him, his calipers relaxed after the previous stimulation with digits, he could still feel the resistance. The ridge pushed deeper, stretching the calipers and it was almost an ache, a discomfort as his calipers tried to adjust.

Then he felt it slide through, the tip hitting nodes deeper inside him, calipers clamping down around the spike and he overloaded with a keen, talons digging into the back of the Autobot. The silver mech groaned.

"So fragging tight and wet and willing. D'you want all o' my spike in yer wet lil' valve? Have me fill ya 'n frag ya 'til none of ya optics can see straight?"

The words sent a shiver of pleasure down Barricade's entire frame. _When did he get into dirty talk?_

"Ya want tha'? Me, _fuckin_ ' ya? Answer me or 'm stoppin'." The 'Bot nipped at Barricade's collar and started pulling out.

"No! Ah, Yes! Yes! Frag me, Autobot."

"That's my li'l 'Con. 'm Jazz, by the way. I'm gonna make ya _scream_ my designation."

 _Jazz_. Barricade tried to search his files for anything on the wicked 'Bot doing things to his frame but his processor was occupied elsewhere. Like the sensation of that spike pressing in further, the next ridge stretching his calipers, _oh, so deliciously_. Jazz kept nipping his collar and neckstruts and Barricade tilted his helm away, allowing the other access to his vulnerable cables and wires, despite the distinct feel of shaper denta than Autobots normally had. Talons dipped into seams on his side and Jazz expertly sought out every sensitive bundle of wires and tweaked them and Barricade found himself writhing underneath the 'Bot.

Jazz lapped with his glossa to soothe a bite and then he bit down again and pushed in deeper at the same time, the stinging bite taking the edge off the slightly painful stretch in the Saleen's valve.

He fleetingly thought he was lucky that Blackout hadn't caught him. The helicopter certainly would not have been this mindful of the smaller mech's frame.

The moment of clarity vanished in the daze when Jazz rubbed his anterior node again while rocking his hips, the ridges inside rubbing against nodes and fluttering calipers. Barricade tried to mewl his name but the task was put in a very long que and the only result was hissing static. Jazz stopped rubbing and went back to just keeping that maddening pressure, once again keeping Barricade on the brink of overloading.

"Fragger!" The Saleen screeched, barely comprehensible with all the digital noise interfering with his voice.

The 'Bot chuckled but finally flicked his node, once...twice...and then he hilted his spike in Barricade's fluttering valve, biting down on the Decepticon's neck cable. Barricade cried out, mostly not from the sting of teeth, but the sharp pain in his valve as the Autobot surged forward. Jazz remained still, lapping at the dents he left on the sensitive cable.

"'m sorry. Had to break the seal somehow."

 _Seal?_ They were _sealed_ before the first time? So now the Autobot knew he hadn't interfaced before? Well, not like that, at least.

"How... how did you know?" Because not even Barricade knew that he had a seal.

"Experience. I know my slag!" Jazz rose up on his servos and grinned down at the Saleen, all cocky confidence. "An' I felt it when I was knuckle deep in ya."

Then he leaned down, teasing Barricade's sharp denta with his glossa, drawing a surprised gasp from the Mustang. He took advantage of it, slipping his glossa inside Barricade's intake, brushing against the Decepticon's glossa. Charge crackled between them and Barricade moaned, the foreign practice surprisingly arousing.

Jazz started moving again, slowly pulling his spike almost all the way out before pushing in, equally slowly, allowing Barricade's valve to adjust to his spike. The ridges stimulated nodes and forced his calipers to stretch over and over. The Mustang's charge was climbing again and he eagerly licked the glossa teasing his intake, following when Jazz pulled back and Jazz took the opportunity to suck it into his intake.

Barricade spread his legs more and bucked up, trying to get the spike deeper, faster now that he was getting used to the size and the slick slide over his nodes just wasn't enough to make him overload. This time, Jazz allowed him to manipulate him, quickening his pace and pushing in as deep as he could, grinding against something deep inside Barricade's valve, making the black and white mech cry out in raw pleasure.

"Jazz!" It came out laced with static.

"Tha's right, 'Con, scream my designation."

He started thrusting quicker and rubbed the exterior node and Barricade arched into the touch, legs straining until his hydraulic pressure started fluctuating. His optics were glitching and he heard himself chanting Jazz's designation over and over but couldn't even find the queue to his vocalizer.

Then he was floating, suspended for a long moment just on the peak where he couldn't take it any more but before he overloaded and he thought he'd never fall over the edge he was teetering on...

Until he did and his optics whited out before going black, his HUD running a list of everything shutting down in rapid succession, his frame going lax and finally he fell offline.

He didn't hear the groan Jazz let out when he overloaded almost at the same time as he did, nor did he feel the gentle kiss on his audial before the Autobot pulled out.

He was rebooting slowly and a strange, floating feeling puzzled his processor before he felt a cool, gentle caress over his entire frame. Somewhere in his memory files there was a recognition in the sensation: the water in the river. He couldn't figure out how he got there. Then he floated out of it again. It was just too confusing. He decided to make a manual reboot and everything went black again.

The next onlining was a little less confusing, but only a little. He was being carried in a firm grip. His optics still refused to reboot and his audials were buzzing, everything was distorted. He heard the crunch of pedesteps, but they weren't loud or heavy and the mech holding him didn't seem huge, considering how he fit in the arms wrapped around him. Barricade tried with his memory files again, coming up with being chased through the base by Blackout.

That seemed illogical. Why would Blackout chase him? And he couldn't find any damage reports, so why was he offline? He must be missing some files. The mech carrying him was smaller than the Helo. The newer files were very fragmented and confusing. _He had his digits in his valve?_ _Why?_ Water on his frame, cooling him. Overheating. _Blue visor?!_

Barricade gave up. He needed to defrag. The mech carrying him obviously wasn't hurting him so a quick recharge shouldn't be a problem. Truth is, he wouldn't be able to stay online even if he wanted to.


	2. Chapter 2

Unlike after his reboots, Barricade onlined abruptly this time, something wet and firm doing _things_  to his exterior node and the slit of his valve that had him shuddering and moaning. 

A quick look around revealed that he wasn't in the same warehouse as before, this looking like an old factory. He didn't pay attention to the surroundings for long as all his focus went to the wonderful things done to his valve. The Autobot, _Jazz,_  was between his spread legs, helmfins visible over Barricade's ventral plating. He was... _was he using his glossa on Barricade's valve?! Yes. Yes he was._

"What are you doing?" He asked, even though he couldn't find a reason to actually protest.

"Oh, ye're fully awake." Jazz lifted his helm to smirk up at the Saleen. "This's a neat li'l trick I learned from tha humans. Works pretty well on mechs too, don'cha think?"

"Yes." Barricade's answer glitched at the end as Jazz licked his node again.

Jazz flat tongued the rim of his valve and node in long, languid strokes and the Mustang spread his legs as much as he physically could to allow better access. Three days earlier, if somebot had told him that he would be doing this with an Autobot, he would have smashed their faceplates in. Now he didn't want to be anywhere else. He couldn't care less if this was a human thing or an Autobot practice. It was ingenious.

The glossa swirled his node, teased the slit and dipped shallowly into his valve and Barricade arched and tensed his legs, trying to...he didn't know what he was trying. His hips jerked when Jazz lapped his node with a flattened glossa again, this time slipping two digits into his dripping valve, expertly finding sensitive nodes along the way. 

Then Jazz sucked at his node andhummed, the vibrations sending the Saleen tumbling into a shallow overload just minutes after onlining and Barricade ground down on the servo, his calipers tightening around the wriggling digits.

"Ye 'r so pretty when ya overload." There was a smirk in Jazz's voice. "On yer knees 'n servos." He patted Barricade's hip.

The Mustang obeyed immediately, all thoughts on dominance and submission and the other implications of this situation abandoned. All he could really think of was getting that spike inside his aching valve as quickly as possible, his processor muzzy with need. When Jazz's servo stroked his hip, talons dipping into a seam, he arched his back and pressed into the touch with a wanton mewl.

Jazz got on his knees behind the black and white mech and sank in to the hilt in a slow, deliciously smooth move, those ridges rubbing all his nodes.

"So very tight, pretty li'l Mustang." Thanks Autobot purred.

He ground his hips, the tip of his spike rubbing the ceiling node in Barricade's valve and the 'Con couldn't stop the whimper leaving his vocalizer, rocking back to meet the Autobot's movement, trying to get that spike even deeper. 

"Jazz,  _please_..." 

He knew the Autobot wanted him to scream his designation and so he did, hoping it would make the mech move and rub and grope and bite and...

Jazz pulled out, the welling lubricant dripping down Barricade's legs, and thrust back in with a wet sound, faster this time. The silver mech groaned, gripping Barricade's hips hard enough to dent armor and the Decepticon rocked back to meet him, talons scrabbling against the concrete floor.

He heard himself mewl electronically, and his fans were spinning at the highest setting, struggling to disperse the heat. Then Jazz overloaded with a growl, biting down on a shoulder plate, and Barricade followed him over, the Autobot's transfluid pooling to stretch him even more.

Then he felt it. The spike inside him swelling and stretching him impossibly more and he squirmed in discomfort with a whine. Something inside him clicked and shifted, clamped down on the Autobot's spike. He scooted forward, trying to get free, but it hurt and he rocked back with a frightened whimper.

"Relax, it's jus' a framelock. It'll le'go in a li'l while." Jazz crooned in his audial, gently stroking seams in his armor in a soothing motion.

Jazz shifted, pulling the Decepticon with him, and turned them around until the Autobot was on his back, Barricade laying on top of him, legs spread to the sides over Jazz's bent knees. The silver mech lazily stroked the Saleen's abdominal plating, engine rumbling in satisfaction and Barricade found himself relaxing from the soothing vibrations.

Barricade was too sated, too content, to even think about protesting, and a small part of him enjoyed the cuddling. Even though the framelock was a little disconcerting.  _Why would that happen?_

Heat calmed for the moment, he slipped into light recharge on top of the Autobot, worn out and needing the rest.

 

*****

 

Jazz handed him a large cube of energon the minute he was back online, the framelock released while he was in recharge. Barricade sat up and took it without second thought. If the silver mech had wanted to offline him, he'd had plenty of time before. And his fuel levels were incredibly low. The heat seemed to burn fuel like a combiner. He looked at the Autobot. Something had changed. His processor didn't see the visored mech as a threat anymore. That process of thought was interrupted by Jazz speaking up.

"It'll soon start all over again. I can smell it." Jazz stated, optics a little dim.

"Where are we?"  _That_ was something his processor did calculate as a potential danger and somehow his GPS and other locating systems weren't able to reach outside the building to pinpoint where he was.

"A safe place. Yer little hideout was reekin' with mech in heat. It wasn't a question of 'if' you'd be found, it was 'when' and 'by whom'. I found both the place and you by scent alone."

Barricade felt himself flush with embarrassment and the Autobot grinned wickedly.

"Oh, ya smell  _delectable._  I could eat ya all nite." He leered. "But 'm curious: don' ya Decepticons help each other out when ye're in heat? Wha' ya were doin' here's downright unhealthy, not ta mention borin'."

"Define 'deal with it'? It's just been the Seekers that went into heat so far, and they always left if they could, so I don't know how they deal with it. If they didn't leave, they'd mostly get passed around and used. Then after the heat was over, they'd be taunted for being easy and propositioned for orns, more often than not forced to fight their way free. A willing valve mech isn't a frequent occurrence in our ranks."

Jazz didn't say anything, but his visor flared momentarily and Barricade got the impression that the Autobot was angry or disgusted. Or both.

"I barely made it out of base. Blackout was the first to realize that I was going into heat. He chased me around the place, seemed completely out of his processor." Barricade continued, disconcerted by the intense scrutiny.

"Yeah, Seekers 'r' the ones with the rep t'be promiscuous 'n' have low self control when it comes to 'facin', but rotaries're really more sensitive to the pheromones given off by a mech in heat. Ye're lucky ya got out, a rotary under tha' kinda influence tend t'be really rough, almost feral. No fun when i's ya first time and Blackout's a pretty big mech." Jazz said, obviously more versed in heat cycles and mech behavior than Barricade.

Barricade shuddered involuntarily. It was a terrifying thought. The pain he'd experienced when the Autobot broke his seal would be nothing compared to what the Helo would inflict. He would probably almost be split in half. A traitorous part of his processor pointed out how good it would feel in his throbbing valve with a big spike stretching him. Like Jazz's big, ridged spike, stretching him so wonderfully...

The Mustang shook his helm to clear the thought away, but it didn't help with how moist his valve was getting. His engine whined. And he heard the other mech push air over his olfactory sensors, a small, knowing twitch of his lips the only outward sign he noticed anything. If Barricade hadn't been an interrogator, programmed to notice everything about body language, he would have missed it. Something about the 'Bot told him that Jazz allowed the little slip, because so far, the seemingly easygoing mech had turned out to be inscrutable when he wanted to be. That realization was added to the list he had that pointed to the silver mech being very dangerous. His valve started tingling.

"How do you 'Bots deal with it?" He tried to distract himself, not because he didn't want to interface again, but he was curious and it was hardwired into him to try getting some information, no matter how irrelevant it might seem at the time.

"When the heat's comin' on, we ask tha bot we'd like ta frag an' if they're willin',  we're authorized a leave o' duty 'til the heat's dealt with. If they're unwillin', we just ask somebot else, there's always somebot 'roun' tha' wanna do it." Jazz answered offhandedly.

_As if getting a vacation to go frag each other senseless was totally normal. Barricade wasn't envious. Nope. Not. At. All._

"Anybot ever asked Prime?" 

He just  _had_  to know. It wasn't like the Decepticons never fantasized about rolling in the berth with the Autobot leader. Granted, they mostly thought about spiking the Prime, but still... Somehow the mech seemed out of reach, above interfacing. Jazz chuckled, an optic ridge raised.

"Of course we do. He's  _amazin_ '. He's huge n' he's a  _truck_ ; made to have the stamina to go for days, 'f ya see whadd'm sayin'. I r'member my last heat. I was so fortunate to get both Prime  _and_  Ironhide to 'help me out'. Hide's packin' some serious girth, 'n' if he start chargin' his guns, his frame  _hums_. They took turns at first but after a few days we ended up in a tangle. I hardly had hydraulic pressure enough to geddoff the berth for days!" Jazz looked starstruck.

Barricade's processors provided vivid images of the little mech sandwiched between a gleaming Prime and the weapons specialist carrying more guns than the average Earthen country. He gasped as his valve clenched when fantasy-Jazz was replaced with himself. Somewhere in a small corner of his processor that still functioned close to normal, he was horrified that he was getting charged by imagining interfacing with two Autobots, but his  _frame_  didn't object at all. He was left wanting and empty and he rubbed his thighs together, desperate for friction.

"That turn ya on, pretty li'l 'Con?" Jazz purred and moved closer, talons haphazardly finding sensitive spots with disturbing accuracy. "Me bein' fragged ta oblivion by mechs more than twice ma mass. Or did ya picture  _yerself_  bein' fucked by them? Coupl'a dangerous 'Bots havin' their way with ya."

Barricade moaned. He could do nothing else, the need overwhelming. The Saleen more or less pounced on Jazz, pushing him to the floor and the Autobot went down willingly with a chuckle. That tiny sliver of his processor that was still clear noted the strength and motor control of Jazz's frame as he controlled the fall and recognized the visored mech for a capable opponent, but that didn't even make the Saleen pause. The smug fragger smirked, as if he knew what was going through Barricade's processor.  _Maybe he did? Spec ops was rumored to have lots of dirty tricks up their armor._

Barricade straddled the Autobot and ground down, his panel still open, and left a glistening trail of lubricant on Jazz's lower abdominal plating. His interface panel was frustratingly still closed and the Mustang growled.

"Open, fraggit!"  _Oh, how Barricade wished it didn't come out as a desperate whine._

Jazz smirked, infuriatingly smug, and put his servos under the back of his helm, lounging carelessly under the quickly heating Saleen, seemingly unaffected by the lubricant dripping from the Decepticon's valve, covering his plating.

"Now, tha's no way to ask nicely. Try again."

"Spikesucker!" Barricade snarled. Well, moaned.

"One o' tha  _best_. But still: nah. Ya'll hafta ask nicely."

"Open.  _Please._ " He ground out through gritted denta.

"Bettah, but not good'nuff. Tell me what ya want." The Autobot's smirk turned into a wicked grin, something that made Barricade's valve clench around nothing. "The  _dirty_  version."

The Mustang was dumbfounded.  _He was supposed to what?!_  He stared, four optics wide and bright while he mentally flailed.  _Did the bot want him to talk dirty?!_

"I want you to frag me?" He tried.

"I know tha'. Ya gotta put a li'l more effort into it than tha'.  _Convince_  me."

In spite of his heat slowly ramping up his charge automatically, his processor getting increasingly disorganized, he was flustered. He'd never asked to be spiked before, hadn't been interested, and the fantasies flooding his processor when he tried to come up with what to say was embarrassingly explicit.  _And delicious._  

"I want your spike... your spike in my valve."  

Barricade tentatively tried, while his processor unhelpfully provided a vivid image of him sliding down that ridged spike, the slick slide and his nodes finally stimulated. His engine revved.

"Good. How d'ya wann'it?" Jazz purred, no trace of mockery in his praise.

"Deep?" Oh, he knew what Jazz asked for, but Barricade just couldn't bring himself to spill all the dirty details.

"Mhm. 'N' why's tha'?" Jazz coaxed.

"Be-Because... because I'm  _empty_! I'm empty and I need something inside me." Barricade whimpered, his faceplates flushing with his embarrassment.

"Don't be ashamed, pretty li'l 'Con. Jus'  _tell_ me what ya like. I wanna hear ya say it."

"I-I like it when you rub my nodes."

"So I'm ta understand tha' ya get dripping wet when ma digits slip in 'n' outta ya? Tha' ya turn into a writhing mess when I  _fuck_ ya like a mech animal? Tha'ya turn incoherent when I tweak yer sensor circuitry?" The Autobot had no problem expressing what Barricade couldn't.

Barricade keened, his valve constricting on nothing and Jazz stared hungrily at the glistening opening drooling lubricant across his abdomen. The Decepticon covered his optics with his servos as he nodded but the visored mech wouldn't allow him to hide, grabbing his wrists and pulling his servos away.

" _Show_  me. If ya can't tell me. Touch me the way ya want me ta touch ya." Jazz encouraged, voice low and husky.

Hesitantly, Barricade smoothed his servos over Jazz's plating, exploring seams with slender talons. He tried remembering the spots where Jazz had touched him before, his few experiences with interfacing,  _up until the Autobot fragged him completely senseless_ , not really something to go by. It had been paid for, 'dip, check, thank-you-mech' and, once, the prize for winning a bet and he'd spiked and left. Nobot had given his frame that kind of attention either and he was way out of his depths.

"Ya know, ye're overprocessin' thangs. Ye're an interrogator, right? Ya know the sweet spots, jus' go easy on 'em. Sensitive spots are good for pleasure if ya tweak the strength of yer touch."

_How in the pit did the Autobot know so much about him while he knew nothing about the 'Bot?_  

And a more troublesome thought occurred to him: if Jazz knew every sensitive spot of his frame without trial and error exploration, then he was possibly an interrogator himself. If he was spec ops, then Barricade was possibly straddling one of the most dangerous mechs of the opposing faction. His traitorous frame heated at that, cooling fans dialing up and his valve got impossibly _wetter,_ clenching again _._  

Jazz sniffed and smirked at the hesitating 'Con. He looked down at Barricade's exposed array and licked his lips when more lubricant dribbled out, running down his abdominal plating.

"My, yareally are _drippin'_. Care ta tell me what made ya so wet _?_ "

"I-I thought about how you knew my sensitive spots. That you're probably very dangerous."

Jazz laughed, not barking out loud, but more of a chuckle, ending it with humming an agreement and Barricade shivered.

"Indeed, I am. 'N' tha' thought turned ya on?  _Kinky._  I like it. Tell me moe."

Barricade stalled, concentrating on Jazz's frame, still not comfortable with sharing his fantasies. He dipped talons into transformation seams and tugged lightly, tweaked bundles of cables and wires, listening to the hissing invents and soft moans the Autobot made. It made his charge rise even more that he could pull those sounds from his mate.

_Wait_.

_What_?!

The train of thought derailed when Jazz moved his servos to Barricade's hips, one slipping down to his array. The Saleen arched back when a single digit slid through slick folds into wet heat and his valve clenched. Jazz pulled his digit out and Barricade whined at the loss.

"Tell me wha'cha want, or ya ain't gettin' nottin'." Jazz singsonged.

"I... I want your spike in my wet valve. You stretch me so good."

"That's it, tell me more, li'l 'Con." Jazz groaned.

"I want to feel you slide into me, all the way until all my sensors inside are rubbed by your ridges."

Barricade whimpered in relief when the Autobot finally opened his panel, spike pressurizing and already dripping pretransfluid. He ground down, moaning when it slid between his swollen valve lips, slick with his lubricant.

"That's right, take ye're pleasure from ma frame. Spare a bunch o' horses a hard ride."

Barricade didn't get the last part but he was beyond caring, reaching down to line up Jazz's spike and sliding down, taking it in one go. He immediately started bouncing, setting a quick pace to chase his overload. The mech underneath him rubbed his anterior node with that wicked skill and his charge rose fast until he teetered on the edge... 

Jazz stopped. He grabbed the writhing Decepticon's hips, forcing him to remain fully seated but stopping the stimulation.

"Di'n' a tell ya ta keep talking? Whadd'ya  _want_ , li'l Mustang?" He growled.

Barricade floundered, embarrassment if what he wanted warring with desperation for release. He tried wiggling to get that much wanted friction to finally overload, but it was impossible. The Autobot was just marginally bigger than he was, but he was  _strong._  He gave in to the demand, need overriding his embarrassment.

"Please, I want you to frag me! No more teasing,  _please!_  I want you to overpower me and hold me down and just  _fuck_ me until I'm so satisfied I can't even get up from the floor." He said it in a rush, still reeling from the realization that this was what he really wantedand that he had told an  _Autobot_.

Jazz grinned, not unlike a hungry cyberwolf and Barricade's vocalizer clicked nervously. He gave a startled yelp when the Autobot rolled them and flipped the Saleen, pressing his face against the floor with an unrelenting servo on his neckstruts. Barricade did nothing to fight it when his hips was hiked up and Jazz fingered him teasingly.

"So  _this_  is what ya need, hmh? Bein' held down 'n' fragged like a wayward cyberhound. Kinky li'l 'Con. Should've known this was what ya want, ya animal."

Barricade's valve clenched and he felt lubricant run down his legs. He whimpered, impossibly  _more_ aroused.

"No, I'm  _not..._  I'm not a  _mechanimal._ " He couldn't even tell if he was denying it for real or just to make Jazz say it again.

"Ye're not? 'Cause from where I stand, ya look jus' as willing 'n' easyas any  _other_  animal in  _heat_." 

Jazz punctuated the last word with hilting his spike inside him with a hard thrust and Barricade overloaded.

"Look at ya, bein' fragged into the floor,  _just_  like a mechanimal."

Barricade whimpered, charge immediately rising again in that seemingly never ending cycle of buildup and overload.

Jazz was rutting into him, quite similar to some sort of cyberanimal, and the raw, primal way of the coupling made the Mustang's valve quiver. The little Autobot seemed to know exactly what his frame craved and Barricade wouldn't object to this to save his functioning, the world reduced to slick slide, clanging metal and wordless grunts and moans.

He overloaded hard, frame going limp and felt the framelock click in place again, Jazz's spike swelling up.

TheAutobot collapsed on top of him, and for a long time, the only sound was their fans working overtime to cool their frames, the metal clicking as if they had just been run hard and hot. Barricade stifled a snort at the thought, because he'd really  _been_  fragged hard. And it was  _hot_.

This time, he was online when the framelock let go, a shifting inside him letting Jazz's depressurized spike slip out. Barricade felt the transfluid dribble down his pelvic armor to puddle on the floor beneath him and he rolled to the side as soon as the Autobot had the courtesy to move. He still felt fluids slosh around inside him, as if not all of it could escape his valve.

"C'm 'ere." 

Jazz laid on his back and opened his arms invitingly. Barricade stared for long moments, because he really wanted to curl up in those strong arms and snuggle close, but...

"I'm messy..." 

He was incredibly self-conscious about the way lubricant and transfluid dripped from him. Jazz just chuckled, managing to sound smug and self satisfied.

"'n' I take full credit for _tha'._  Relax, man. 's the way 't's supposed ta be after tha' frag. I don't mind."

After another second of hesitation, the Mustang crawled up to the silver mech, slinging an arm and a leg over the Autobot to get as close as possible.

"You better not, it's your fault." He snarked. 

_Because heat or no, he was still Barricade the Decepticon, dammit!_

Jazz just laughed and stroked sharp talons along seams in the Saleen's plating, making the Decepticon's intake hitch.  _How in the name of Unicron's beardplates could he still start to heat up by just a few touches?!_

By the time Jazz'sservos reached his pelvic plating, Barricade's fans had dialled up two notches already and a tingling charge was starting to build in his valve. He briefly wondered if his spark was getting taxed, because he felt sort of a heaviness behind his chestplates, as if his spark was a size too big for his sparkchamber. It buzzed in a way that wasn't all uncomfortable.

He slid up to straddle Jazz, nuzzling the Autobot's cheekplate, and the silver mech grinned lazily. He did look like a mech well fragged, servos unhurriedly gliding along Barricade's plating to tease sensors that had been neglected before in their frantic pace. As of he was mapping out the Saleen's entire frame.

_Maybe he was. Maybe he'd use this knowledge to cause as much pain as possible with minimum effort in interrogation in the future._

Barricade's spark surged with a bolt of fear, but that mostly added to the heaviness in his chest and he got distracted by how his charge was building.  _And Jazz's digits on his shoulder wheel._

The Mustang jolted with a mewl when Jazz found yet another sensor that had never been stimulated before in Barricade's functioning, and the Autobot expertly tweaked itjust  _so_ , enough pressure not to tickle, but lightly enough to make the Saleen's system go haywire with the data. The only time his sensors were normally supplying him with data was in interrogation, when somebot hurt him. Or during battle when he was taking damage. This made all those touches to give him pleasure all the more confusing to his processor, and somehow it calculated it to mean he was safe and he relaxed again, melting into the touch of the dangerous mech underneath him.

"Those fluctuations in yer field is jus'  _delightful_  li'l 'Con." 

Jazz smirked before biting Barricade's cheekplate lightly with sharp denta and the Decepticon's intake hitched when his spark spun quicker again. A tension seemed to coil in his chest and he whined quietly as it buzzed and almost itched. The Autobot's optics sharpened, intensely studying the Saleen and momentarily flicking down to his chest.

To distract himself from the weird sensation,  _he wasn't going to ask an Autobot about that Primus dammit, he was vulnerable enough as is,_ he tried to find sensitive wires and nodes hidden under the silver mech's plating. It worked, and the Decepticon felt ridiculously proud when the mech he was straddling bucked his hips up and warbled in pleasure.

"Tha's right, ma goo' li'l 'Con. Oh,  _Primus_ , don' stop."

Barricade grinned triumphantly as Jazz's vocalizer burst static when he slid back and forth, rubbing his wet valve against the Autobot's pressurized spike. The Saleen sat up, looking at where his lubricant and Jazz's pre-transfluid slicked the ridged spike and dripped down the Autobot's scuffed plating. It was almost hypnotic to watch, making Barricade's charge surge.

To distract himself from the itching in his chest, he rocked forward to allow Jazz's spike to slide into him. His optics glitched, making him see stars when the charge in his valve finally found a conduit. He didn't even notice when he started scratching his chest.

"Nono, allow me, babe."

Jazz grabbed his wristtire and pulled the Saleen's servo away. His other servo came up to slide digits into the seams of Barricade's chestplates and the Decepticon's fans stalled before rattling into higher gear. He was somewhat alarmed that he had an enemy toying so close to his sparkchamber, but his frame readily agreed. 

Processors pulled up lines of code and activated them automatically so fast he had no time to analyze what it was and he watched transfixed as the gaps in his armor widened to allow the digits to roam deeper.

He heard locks unlatching and things moving in Jazz's frame, and even though the Autobot's chestplates remained closed, Barricade could _see_  sparklight seep through the seams. His optics brightened as that light seemed to reach for him, tendrils of plasma licked out between seams like lazy fire.

Barricade's own spark felt tight,  _so very tight,_  the questing digits coaxing his plating to widen the seams by it's own accord. Then programs and code swished by even quicker in his CPU and he heard his chestplates unlatch and open up. When the Saleen looked down, he saw his sparkchamber spiral open and at his startled yelp he could _see_  his spark surge with his alarm.

The most pressing thing was the tug of Jazz's spark, the almost magnetic pull that had his spark reaching out to the wisps visible around the seams in Jazz's still closed armor. 

_Barricade was so very vulnerable here, his spark open for the Autobot to maim or crush. Was this what the spec ops mech had aimed for all along?!_

"Relax Barricade. 'm not gonna hurt ya." Jazz crooned, voice strained.

The soft voice did relax Barricade and that momentary loss of apprehension was all it took for him to lose the fight against his own frame. The tug won and he leaned forward.

As soon as the first wisps of plasma connected, Jazz's chestplates slid apart. Barricade gasped as their sparks reached for each other, lacing together like a lover's embrace. The sensation was overwhelming when he for the first time truly  _felt_ another mech, the very essence of him. Their chestplates locked together, keeping them at optimal distance for the merge without them consciously having control of their frames.

His processors reeled when he was laid bare for the Autobot to sense, all his pain, loss, hate and fear. Then he was submerged in the other, his equal amounts of loss, his pain of those losses, but other things to. Guilt for pain he had caused others but what Barricade's spark reached for was bigger, warmer. The Decepticon wanted to bask in it forever, like laying on a warm cliff with the sun of this dirtball of a planet heating his plating. He wanted to roll in that feeling until he was covered in it, saturated. When he reached his peak and overloaded, just before he was forced into reboot, he realized what that feeling was, the thing Jazz felt for Cybertron, for this planet with it's roads and music and organics, for others of his own kind and for some of other kinds too.

_It was love._

*****

 

The next time he onlined, his frame felt different. Sticky and sore, but temperature normal, no charge burning in his circuits. He looked around the warehouse, taking in the surroundings for real for the first time, processor clear.

Jazz wasn't there. But he found two cubes of energon, sorely needed, and a message cube. He smirked. The Autobot was clever enough to know that he might not trust a memory stick that needed to be plugged into his systems to not be infected with a virus or something.

_Even though he might actually trust it. The 'Bot hadn't offlined him even when his spark laid bare for the world to see_

It was a startling realization that he actually thought that.

He played the message while checking his systems report. Everything seemed to be back online. There were a few new protocols running but he figured it had something to do with his reproductive programming being online. Barricade pushed away the thought of the next time he would go into heat. Hopefully, it would be a long time before it happened again.

"Sorry to bail on ya, 'm normally not the type to frag n' leave but I figured ya'd not want me here now tha' the heat's over. Hope I won't hafta offline ya on the field, n' if ye're up for 'nother roll in the berth: comm me."

Barricade stared at the little message cube, sipping the energon. It was stupid, laughable even. Both of them had been influenced by his heat. Would the 'Bot really consider treason for a frag when his processor cleared?  _Would Barricade??_  He scoffed at the thought. And yet, he saved the comm link in his register...

Subspacing the message cube, he smashed the empty energon cubes with his pede when he stood. He tested out his defensive and offensive protocols, guns humming online just as they should. Everything seemed to be back to normal and he transformed to alt mode, slowly heading back to base. 

 

 


End file.
